


Return to Orzammar

by aeriamamaduck



Series: Dragon Age: Origins [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Orzammar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 18:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4315488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeriamamaduck/pseuds/aeriamamaduck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Dalish elf observes the intricacies and injustices of life in Orzammar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fenthari gaped at the massive mountain that lay before them for the second time, still unable to wrap her head around the idea that there was an entire city within it, with many levels to it. How could anyone bear to live without the open air and the boundless sky above them? The thought of staying trapped in an enclosed space made Fenthari shudder beneath her armor.

 _Siri spent her whole life in Orzammar,_ she reminded herself as they walked through the stalls set outside the city gates.  _She didn’t know what she was missing._

Looking at her fellow Warden, she realized how nervous Siri was as they got closer to what used to be her home. A home that rejected her from the moment she was born.

Siri blew out a breath, face pale and eyes wide as she looked at the gates. “When I was coming out those doors, I’d never seen a light as bright as the sun before. Everything smelled new and clean. Now I can smell all the coal from out here.”

Bounding up beside her, Zevran had an anticipatory grin on his face. “I, for one, cannot wait to see this gem of a city. I am eager to sample the famous dwarven ales and those curious nug creatures…”

“I wouldn’t get too excited about the ales, Zevran,” Alistair warned. “They hit you like a kick from an Archdemon.”

“And the best nug dishes are also the most expensive,” Siri added. “Well…that ought to go without saying.”

They fell silent at the sound of angry voices coming from the gates, and Fenthari spotted three humans (two of them mages) arguing with a bearded dwarf, whose face had a stubborn set as he faced the shouting human.

“Something tells me we are in for a fight in the near future,” Morrigan said in an undertone, a slow smile spreading on her face as they climbed the steps. Fenthari tightened her grip on her bow, not liking this one bit.

They approached the small group and Fenthari saw the dwarf guard slice at the air in a gesture of finality. “ _Veata_! This land is held in trust for the sovereign dwarven kings. I cannot allow entry at this time.”

The armored human curled his lip angrily and shouted, “King Loghain demands the allegiance of the deshyr or lords or whatever you call them in your Assembly! I am his appointed messenger!”

“I don’t care if you’re the king’s wiper,” the guard replied testily. “Orzammar will have none but its own until our throne is settled.”

“Settled?” Siri stepped up, frowning in concern as she addressed the guard. “Did something happen to King Endrin?”

Fenthari expected an answer from the guard, but instead his eyes widened in recognition and his hand reached out. “Wait, look at me.” He grabbed at Siri’s chin roughly, forcing her to show her brand as she cried out in surprise. The guard snarled, “You’re the brand who dishonored the Proving!”

There was a ripple of outrage from the group, Fenthari catching Alistair’s sharp intake of breath, but Zevran was faster as he clamped his hand over the guard’s wrist and gave him a look that held no humor and the promise of a painful death.

“Release the lady or I will remove your offensive hand myself,” he said in a dangerous tone.

Glaring at Zevran, the dwarf did as he was told but continued to stare at Siri as though she were something unpleasant. “Trust you to be ignorant of our tragedy.”

Fenthari noted how Siri moved her gaze downward, not looking the man in the eye.

The guard explained, “Orzammar has no king. Endrin Aeducan returned to the Stone not three weeks ago, sick over the loss of his son and daughter. The Assembly has gone through a dozen votes without agreeing on a successor. If it’s not settled soon, we risk a civil war.”

Creators, were these dwarves unaware of the danger? Had they not heard of what occurred at Ostagar? “My deepest condolences for your people, but the Grey Wardens need their traditional dwarven allies.” She pulled out the treaty specific to Orzammar and handed it to the dwarf.

As the guard read the treaty the human exclaimed angrily, “The Grey Wardens killed King Cailan and nearly doomed Ferelden! They’re sworn enemies of King Loghain!” He turned his accusing gaze on Fenthari, who saw his hand inch towards his sword. She glared back at him, wanting to kill him for daring to name that accursed  _shemlen_ king.

The guard handed Fenthari the treaty, pointedly ignoring Siri. “Well, that is the royal seal. That means only the Assembly is authorized to address it. Grey Warden, you may pass.”

The human was practically apoplectic with fury. “You’re letting in a traitor? And what was that you said, a filthy brand?” He pointed at Siri, who shrank back against Zevran and ducked her head to hide her face in her hair.

“In the name of King Loghain I demand that you execute these…stains on the honor of Ferelden!”

Fenthari spat, “Idiot  _shemlen!_ Loghain is the traitor who killed King Cailan at Ostagar!”

“What? L-lies and slander!” The man stammered, unsheathing his sword. “King Loghain will not suffer this! I will not suffer it. I’m his messenger!”

Nocking an arrow and seeing Siri and Zevran unsheathe their daggers out of the corner of her eye, Fenthari darted away and aimed at one of the mages. The guard shook his head and waved a hand dismissively. “Kill each other as you will but take your sodding fight off my doorstep!”


	2. Chapter 2

The fight had been easy enough, and everyone had been fascinated with the Hall of Heroes. Yet Fenthari realized Siri was still shaken by the guard’s reaction and stayed beside her, glaring and hissing at the well-dressed dwarf who had muttered something insolent in her direction.

They entered the city itself and Fenthari lost her breath at the sheer  _size_ of it. Orzammar was a golden, glowing world nestled within the earth, smelling of something primal and ancient. But the sight that greeted them was not so welcoming.

Two groups of dwarves faced each other in an intense argument that deteriorated when one buried his axe in another’s belly, making all but Sten gasp in surprise. Fenthari covered her mouth, shocked and shaking as blood poured out of the dwarf’s corpse and the crowd dispersed when an irate guard approached.

Sharing an apprehensive look with Siri, they made their way towards the grisly scene as the guard angrily admonished the parties. He spotted them and his eyes narrowed when he caught sight of Siri. He walked towards them with quick strides and Fenthari felt Siri back away, turning in time to see the fearful look in her eyes.

Voice sharp with authority, the guard shouted, “ _Veata_! I have enough crime without some casteless carrying weapons in the city. Your actions risk pain of death! Name yourself!”

Siri mouthed uselessly, looking at her feet. Fenthari clenched her jaw and came between her and the guard. “‘Grey Warden’ is all the name you need from her,” she said stonily.

The guard gave them an incredulous look. “Warden.  _Her_? When I heard they accepted a brand I thought it was a joke. Surfacers and their cloud-addled minds. Fine, oh illustrious Grey Warden, what do you want?”

Fenthari turned to nudge Siri encouragingly. Her friend took a breath and avoided the other dwarf’s eyes as she explained in a small voice, “A Blight is coming, and we need Orzammar’s assistance.”

To Fenthari’s ire, the guard shook his head. “Surface problems. Well, we have no king to hear you. You can join the shouting at the Assembly in the Diamond Quarter, if you want. Bunch of deshyr lords bickering over sand. Bhelen, Harrowmont…is one so different? No paragons here.”

Fenthari hardly cared for his dismissive attitude. “Sounds like Bhelen and Harrowmont are the ones to talk to.”


	3. Chapter 3

Now the Diamond Quarter was markedly different. Fenthari could tell how the architecture and general cleanliness of the streets was meant to distinguish it as a place for nobility. Not unlike how humans set up their societies. What surprised Fenthari most was the sheer size of the buildings. They were… _tall_.

“My word…It’s obvious no one spares any expense here,” Wynne commented.

Even Siri let out an impressed whistle. “It really does look bigger up close…Thari, do you mind if I walk behind y–”

_“Siri!”_

Suddenly Siri’s head snapped up at the sound of the feminine voice calling out her name, and Fenthari turned to see a beautiful, well-dressed, red-headed dwarf quickly making her way toward them. There was a brand, identical to Siri’s, on her face. She heard Siri gasp and whisper, “Rica,” before running towards the other dwarf and nearly crashing in an embrace.

Zevran stated with a smile, “Ah, so  _that_ is the famous Rica!”

Fenthari remembered Siri’s mentions of her older sister, and felt a warm joy to see her friend reunited with someone so important. Though they looked very different, Fenthari saw Siri’s same smile on Rica’s face.

They stood close to each other, Rica stroking Siri’s hair and shaking her head. “I can’t believe it! I heard a dwarven Grey Warden came to Orzammar and I couldn’t help but hope…Look at you! My little sister, a battle-scarred veteran.” Her green eyes shifted to see the group, widening in surprise. “And with quite the unusual entourage…”

Siri giggled and pulled her sister toward them. “These are my friends, Rica. Fenthari and Alistair are both fellow wardens.”

Fenthari beamed at Rica and bowed her head. “ _Aneth ara,_ Rica Brosca. Siri’s spoken of you fondly.”

“I’ll say,” Alistair added as he took Rica’s hand and kissed it, drawing a surprised blush from her cheeks.

Siri went on, “This is Wynne, from the Circle of Magi. Back here is Sten of the Beresaad. Leliana, from Orlais. Morrigan…And this funny little guy is Pork.” The mabari had bounded up, giving both dwarves an entreating look that turned into delighted pants as they petted him. Then Siri stood next to a grinning Zevran. “And this is Zevran Arainai.”

Fenthari noticed that she didn’t give any more information than that, and wondered what guesses Rica would make. The elven assassin bowed charmingly. “It is a delight to finally meet my Warden’s lovely sister. She has oft described your beauty, but seeing you in person is quite another thing.”

Softly clearing her throat, Fenthari noticed the brief twitch of Siri’s mouth at those words.  _Damn it, Zevran._

Rica gave Siri a knowing look. “‘His’ warden, is it? Oh, my.”

Siri smiled at her sister, a pale imitation of her previously happy smile, and said, “I’ve missed you so much, Rica.”

Rica gave Siri another hug and raved, “You look so good. And so fancy! I’ve been worrying that we’re living in luxury while you’re suffering on the road.”

“Yeah, I was meaning to ask: what exactly are  _you_ doing in the Diamond Quarter, dressed like that?”

Eyes glowing with pride, Rica replied, “Can you imagine? As of last month, I’m a royal concubine to House Aeducan. They’ve moved Mother and me into the palace!”

Siri frowned for a moment before realization dawned on her. “You…You’re a mother?”

Rica nodded gleefully as she began leading them away from the doors. “Remember my patron? I had his son! I wish you could meet little Endrin. But they don’t let me bring him outside the royal nursery. He was born right before his grandfather died. His grandfather, the  _king_. Can you believe it? My son is an Aeducan. The future king of Orzammar spends his nights in  _my_ bed!”

Fenthari listened to her words and the sheer joy in Rica’s voice. She actually thought it good that she was a man’s…extra woman. That she had to sell her body and bear his child in order to rise up in caste.

Judging by the happiness on her face, Siri agreed with her sister.  _Would she have consented to becoming a whore had she not known how to fight?_

Rica went on, holding on to Siri’s hand tightly, “Beraht was a toad, but I have to thank him for teaching me to read, dance, massage, and whatever else Bhelen sees in me.”

Fenthari bit back a disgusted growl.

Siri, squeezing her sister’s hand, asked, “How is Mother? And Leske?”

There was a momentary silence before Rica replied, “Mother is…Mother. We have everything we could want now, but…well, you know what they say. You can’t leave Dust Town if you always take it with you. And I haven’t seen Leske since you left. Bhelen doesn’t like me spending time off the estate.”

Fenthari could see the desire in Siri to ask more, but her friend instead said, “I’m afraid I’m not here just to visit.”

A worried look immediately appeared on Rica’s face and she turned to take Siri’s other hand. “Why, what’s wrong? All the news from the surface says terrible things are happening. Darkspawn attacks and a civil war among the humans.”

Siri nodded in grim confirmation. “There’s a Blight on the surface, and I need Orzammar to support the Wardens.”

“And I’m sure the Assembly would agree if hey weren’t busy arguing the succession,” Rica said, her mouth curled with distaste.

“Do the dwarves  _really_ need convincing that there’s a Blight?” Alistair asked incredulously. “Maker, you’d think they’d be the first to offer their help!”

Rica sighed heavily. “I hate this! Until there’s a king, the Assembly would let the world collapse rather than bow to anyone’s better judgment. But…I can introduce you to Vartag Gavorn. He’s Bhelen’s chief lieutenant. He could help you if anyone could.”

Siri smiled gratefully. “Take me there. But tell me about little Endrin!”

Rica beamed and went on leading them through the quarter. “Finally you ask! He’s beautiful, with the biggest brown eyes, and so smart! He already knows who his father is. I’m sure his first word will be ‘prince.’”


	4. Chapter 4

Siri had told Fenthari of her mother: a violent drunkard who spent her down moments sleeping it off.

The woman standing in front of them in Rica’s suite had a lined face, shadows beneath her eyes, and stringy red hair. Siri, much to her fortune, looked nothing like her.

Fenthari tried to look as unaffected as possible, as did Alistair, Zevran, and Morrigan, for Siri’s sake. She looked embarrassed enough already.

“…Hello, Mother,” Siri said softly, a small smile on her face as she looked at her mother.

Kalah Brosca gave her a bitter smile and drawled in a voice that sounded like an overused dishrag, “Well, look at you. All fancied up. You find some princeling to give you pretty clothes while he sticks it to you, like your sister?”

Siri flinched visibly and color spread over her face. Zevran frowned and his hands twitched at his sides, impressing Fenthari.

However, Siri cleared her throat and replied in a voice that barely trembled, “I am a Grey Warden now, Mother.”

The woman’s expression didn’t change at all. “Right. Rica told me. Running off to the surface, just like your father. Never thought to share a little of that fortune with your mother?”

 _Fortune!? Siri owes you nothing!_ Fenthari could tell how the comparison to her father rankled Siri, as she had told her of how the man had left them when she was old enough to remember she’d been abandoned.

Siri finally glared at her mother and exclaimed while gesturing around her, “You’re living in a palace!”

Kalah scoffed, “I’ve seen how they look at me. Think I’m gutter trash. Not one of them would let me step foot here if it wasn’t for Rica! Precious Rica and her precious little brat! If he chokes on that gold rattle, we’d both be on the street!”

Fenthari gasped in shock. She was speaking of her  _grandson_. Alistair had turned away, pointedly trying to ignore the exchange, but Morrigan was looking at them with fascination and Zevran gazed at Kalah with barely-concealed disgust.

Siri quietly asked, as though she already knew the answer, “You’re drinking again, aren’t you?”

This time a smirk appeared on the woman’s face. “Heh. You know what they keep up here? They got wine from the surface, ale, brandy…They got a whole room of it. An’ nobody’s gone stop me taking it, because I’m the brat’s grandmother.”

Clenching her fists, Siri firmly ordered, “Rica’s happy. Don’t you  _dare_  ruin that.”

Kalah laughed mockingly, the sound making Fenthari nauseous. “Oh, _precious_  Rica. What’s she done besides getting herself knocked up? I had two worthless brats and no one ever gave me the time of day for it.” She pointed a grubby finger at Siri’s face, making her flinch back. “I deserve what she got! And more! And don’t you tell me any different!”

Siri inhaled shakily and Fenthari saw tears gather in her eyes before she turned on her heel and sped out of the room. Zevran’s gaze followed her before he went after her.

Morrigan wryly whispered in Fenthari’s ear, “Siri and I have more in common than I thought…”


	5. Chapter 5

Fenthari nodded in understanding of the old Shaper’s words, knowing there would never be enough time for her to learn everything about Orzammar’s complicated politics. But still she ventured to ask, “What about the casteless?”

The Shaper’s mouth quirked in a slight betrayal of distaste before he explained, “The casteless descend from criminals and those repudiated by their own families. Or who chose to go to the surface and live by human laws. They have no ancestors to guide them and no families to claim them. They should not have been born. Their parents defied their shame and brought cursed children into the world. It’s better they die young.”

And in less than a minute, Fenthari went from respecting this knowledgeable man to wanting to shoot him through the throat. He too believed in this stupid caste system…he believed the drivel that had just come out of his mouth!

“Is that what should’ve happened to me?”

Fenthari turned, surprised to see Siri standing beside her, arms crossed as she looked at the Shaper expectantly. There was no anger in her face, but still that same resignation that Fenthari hated.

The Shaper looked at her and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can speak with you as a Warden, but I cannot discuss your belief that you have previously been to Orzammar. Your presence here was not recorded in the Memories. You do not exist.”

She was about to scream,  _Siri Brosca **exists** , and she has more honor than you pig-headed fools!_ But Siri’s hand fell upon her shoulder and Fenthari looked at her.

Siri’s face said,  _This is what life is like here. I’m used to it._


	6. Chapter 6

Dust Town smelled rotten. It smelled of illness, starvation, and unwashed bodies.

Fenthari didn’t want to imagine sweet, brave Siri growing up in such a terrible place. She reached for Alistair’s hand, bolstered by his gentle squeeze, and looked up to find his own face mirroring her disbelief.

“It’s…almost like an alienage,” he said quietly.

Then a female voice shakily called to her, “H-have you a coin to spare, m’lady?” Fenthari turned to see a woman crouching beside a wall, holding a toddler in her arms. The woman had dirty brown hair and soot on her face, along with a look of complete desperation. “It’s for my son. He’s sick. He hasn’t any clean clothes to wear, or anything to eat today. N-neither have I.”

Fenthari approached her, having noticed the difference. “You can just call me ‘Fenthari.’ Your face isn’t marked. What caste are you?” she asked gently.

The woman’s face crumpled and she turned away, “…I am Zerlinda…and I am nothing! My family has disowned me. I am no longer welcome in any Mining Caste hall. Unless…But no! I can’t bear to even think of it!”

 _Disowned?! Why would they do that?_  Fenthari was about to ask when Siri walked up beside her, staring down at Zerlinda and asking, “What does your family want you to do?”

Zerlinda sniffled and uncovered the baby’s face, revealing a brown mark with furious red edges on his pale cheek. It was still swollen and the very sight of it made Fenthari recoil with disgust.  _Creators…they really do brand them!_

“My son’s father is casteless, as is he,” Zerlinda explained tearfully. “I used to be a miner, but my parents stripped my caste and refused to accept me back. Unless I agree to abandon the child in the Deep Roads and pretend I never bore him!”

Fenthari shook her head, not understanding. “If you’re a miner, why would your son be casteless?”

Siri explained in a resigned tone of voice, “In Orzammar, lineage is traced through the child’s same-sex parent. Had her baby been a girl, she would’ve been a miner, like her. But as a boy, her son is considered tainted forever by his father’s seed.”

“That’s horrible!” Fenthari could not even conceive of such an injustice. The baby was an innocent! What right did these dwarves have to mark a child in such a painful way? She looked at Siri and shuddered to think of someone pressing a brand to her face.

Zerlinda went on, “I cannot abandon my baby! The shapers teach that only children of true lineage exist, not those born casteless. But they never carried a child.” She clutched the weak child to her chest, pressing her lips to his hair. “He cries like any other infant and smiles when he’s warm and full. I can’t kill him because of an accident of birth! An accident I forced on him!”

Blinking away furious tears, Fenthari began to reach for her coin purse. There had to be something–

“Take your son to the surface,” Siri firmly told Zerlinda, kneeling down to her level and stroking the boy’s head. “All dwarves are equal there and caste doesn’t matter. He’d  _exist_.”

Fenthari caught the fervent belief in Siri’s eyes and tried to think of when they’d first met. Siri had been thinner, her face a bit leaner and her muscles wiry. She definitely looked stronger, though they hardly traveled in ideal conditions. And honestly, Fenthari agreed with her advice.

Zerlinda gazed at Siri, taking in her brand and the quality of her armor. She wiped at her eyes and nodded solemnly. “If it gives my son a chance to live, I will go. Thank you, stranger, for opening my eyes. Perhaps I’ll see you next in the light of the sun.”

Unable to speak, Fenthari pressed a purse filled with ten sovereigns to Zerlinda’s hand. 


	7. Chapter 7

Fury had coiled in the pit of Zevran’s stomach ever since that idiot guard laid his hands on Siri. Usually he could control his baser impulses, priding himself on that control. He’d very nearly failed after seeing for himself the harridan Siri had for a mother, and he wanted nothing more than to slit the insolent woman’s throat.

Siri concerned him more at the moment, and she was currently engaged in a healthy outlet for her undoubtedly roiling emotions. The two of them crossed the bridge to the Proving Ground, Siri daring to look the shocked guards in the eye for the first time since she’d entered the city.

Zevran was smiling as he took in the glorious scene before him, and then heard doors open behind him.

Fenthari breathlessly ran up behind him, worry on her lovely face. “Zev. Have you seen Siri?”

He smirked and nodded towards the pit. “Eyes to the pit, my friend. She is just getting warmed up.”

The Dalish warden followed his gaze and gasped when she spotted Siri in that pit, daggers twirling gracefully as she slit her opponents’ throats. His Warden was a vision, covered in blood and her eyes ablaze with battle fury.

Easily one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

When it was over and Siri was named the winner (much to the chagrin of the castes), Zevran and Fenthari awaited her.

Siri emerged, panting in exhaustion and still covered in blood. Even so, Zevran walked up to her and tangled his fingers in her hair to pull her in for a kiss before she realized what was happening.

Of course his lovely warden gasped in surprise, then relaxed into the kiss as Zevran’s ears twitched with the sound of the dwarves’ scandalized gasps.  _Good_ , he thought.  _We will scandalize them more before the week is out._


End file.
